


Profane and Arcane

by Yeah_JSmith



Series: Your Friendly Neighborhood Demon God [2]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Age Reversal, Check Your Self-Respect at the Door, Different Roles, Don't Talk to Me about Weird Anatomy in What Amounts to a Furry Fandom, F/M, Humor, I Apologize for Precisely Nothing, Light Bondage, Nightmare Fetish, Porn, Strength Kink, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeah_JSmith/pseuds/Yeah_JSmith
Summary: A year and a half after they saved Zootopia from an amateur demonologist hell-bent on flooding the world with zombies, Judy and Nick spend the garbage holiday season together for the first time, and amuse themselves in a much less creepy way than singing hymns and screaming at retail workers.(Nick, Judy, and the perks of dating a horrifying tentacle monster.)
Relationships: Judy Hopps & Nick Wilde, Judy Hopps/Nick Wilde
Series: Your Friendly Neighborhood Demon God [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153706
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45





	Profane and Arcane

**Author's Note:**

> Sensible Me: I should finish my new chapter for DWR.  
> Other Me: _Or_ you could write tentacle porn that all of your readers will _hate you_ for.  
> Sensible Me: ...Fuck.  
> Other Me: Yeah, they will, that's kinda the point.
> 
> This follows _The Spookiest Story,_ but you don't have to have read it, I don't think. This is basically just porn. Just accept as fact that Judy is a PI who is 8 years older than Nick, they were friends and next-door neighbors for a couple of years before they got together, and they averted the zombie apocalypse together using the power of swing dancing and bad jokes. Also just accept as fact that I am garbage given human form and I have zero shame.

Living, in most of the ways it can be defined, in what amounted to a magic house, was a mixed bag. On the one paw, Nick never had to worry about finding space for knickknacks and had a gleaming, gorgeous, expansive kitchen, despite technically cohabiting with Judy in a garbage-tier studio apartment. On the other paw, sometimes he tripped over their pet nightmare on his way to the bathroom and stumbled out the door and into the alley behind the husk of Heck’s Kitchen, an old mouse-run restaurant that had burned down in the 50’s. It only ever happened to Nick, though, because of course it did.

(Sparky didn’t like him. He didn’t like Sparky, either. By mutual agreement, they kept their feud from Judy, because she didn’t need that kind of stress in her life. Really, it had absolutely nothing to do with Nick’s reluctance to admit that he couldn’t outwit a pandimensional puffball with limited sentience, nor with Sparky’s inability to convey said sentiments.)

On one winter Saturday, Judy sat on their sofa with Sparky in her lap, allowing it to nuzzle her fingers with its smaller head — the one that always existed — and humming to herself while she read through the tabloids. Business was either booming or dead, depending on whose business you were inquiring about; most of Zootopia was gearing up for a winter holiday, technically the Mass of the Shepherd but which most non-orthodox folks shortened to Windsmass, and so Judy’s PI business (which Nick co-ran, at this point; Judy was too kindhearted for her own good sometimes, and Nick played the cynic and skeptic so she didn’t have to) was practically overflowing with requests to find out who was cheating and who needed to get divorced and where so-and-so was so they could get served Court summons, but their _other_ business, the business of demonic deals, was…

Well. The federal holiday was just called Winter Solstice for PC reasons, but most mammals in Animalia identified as Northern Winds, and even those who _didn’t,_ preferred not to dabble in the occult during the winter holidays because their families were watching. Judy was on the lookout for strange happenings that would require their services, having a knack for seeing the truth in fiction.

“See anything you like,” he asked idly, draping himself over the armrest at the other end of their sofa. He wasn’t going to get within range of Sparky’s tail, which tended to phase through organic matter and then become solid again at the wrong time. 

“Not really. Everything’s dead — and not even the undead kind, just _dead,”_ Judy replied with a sigh. She looked over at him, smiled softly, and brought her foot up to nudge his calf with her toes. “I guess that’s another reason we can hate the holiday season, right?”

“Not like we need another reason.”

 _“I_ need a reason. I used to think Windsmass was a cleaning solution,” she teased. “You’re the one who grew up hating it.”

Nick didn’t hate the holiday because he was an atheist; he could certainly admit that at least _one_ god existed. Since his introduction to the realm of the supernatural, he’d learned that zombies could be created, alternate dimensions were real, pixie blood was almost impossible to get out of cotton clothing, and ancient demon gods could transfer their consciousnesses and powers into 32-year-old private investigators from Bunnyburrow, but he’d never seen any evidence of any living gods other than Judy, who had only inherited her title from the decaying Ialdabaoloth upon its death. 

He’d never believed in the God of the North, though, even before he’d learned that supernatural things were real, and he hated even the nonreligious parts of the holiday. He hated the rampant commercialization, the music — oh, cripes, _the horrible music —_ and the false cheer. He hated the way snobby pricks would turn up their noses at poor folks during the rest of the year, but donate to charities or homeless shelters around the holiday as some kind of performative act of kindness. He hated the way charities would capitalize on the so-called _spirit of giving_ but then refuse to give what had been donated to the mammals they were collecting for. He hated the way his classmates had always looked down on him for the secondpaw gifts that his mother had saved so hard to get him on a holiday _she_ hadn’t believed in, either. 

Bunnyburrow, though, didn’t celebrate Windsmass culturally, although Judy was sure there were some individual families who had private traditions. Bunnyburrow holidays tended to honor the Earth; Bunnyburrow held Solstice bonfires in the summer and winter, harvest celebrations in the spring and fall, and food festivals whenever their major exports were in season. Judy hadn’t ever gotten the hype of the “holiday season,” but she didn’t have the negative feelings toward it that he did.

Things were different now, though. Unlike other years, he wasn’t alone; it was enough of a mood lift just to have her with him. He could still hardly believe how lucky he’d gotten. Here he was, 25 years old, living an amazing life with the bunny he loved — the bunny who loved him back.

“I guess I’ll just have to make better memories,” he said. “It’ll be easy, with you.”

“True. I can give you anything you want,” she replied, and _she wasn’t even lying._

Now that Judy had control over her powers, her relationships with physics and reality in general were somewhat antagonistic. She had always marched to the beat of her own drum, but now, she could literally turn an object into a drum and make it beat itself while she marched through the air if she felt like it. Of course, she did have limits; her powers were chaotic so nicer pieces of magic had unpredictable results if she didn’t channel them through deals, and the more destructive the spell, the easier it was for her to do. It also came with the unfortunate side effect of her true demonic form having a bunch of tentacles tucked into another plane of reality, but that was neither here nor there.

Yeah, he’d thought about it.

No, he hadn’t asked.

It had just never been the right time, okay?

“Um,” he said, because he was thinking about it again. 

“Do you,” she asked, sounding both amused and excited, “have a _wish?”_

As a god, Judy had the powers of the cosmos at her fingertips. As a demon, she had the compulsion to make deals and make mammals’ wishes come true. Due to the fact that most of the mammals who summoned her asked for abhorrent things, she and Nick had worked pretty extensively on her scamming skills, so she was pretty good at giving them what they wanted in a way that ended terribly for them, but with Nick, she never twisted the wish. She kept it pure. (It helped that Nick never asked for anything he couldn’t get on his own; he only made deals with her at all so she wouldn’t go through long dry spells if she were unsummoned for too long.) Nick had a _desire,_ but he didn’t think he wanted to make it a wish; Judy’s deals were magically binding and essentially unbreakable. Somehow, Nick didn’t think that aspect of demonic deals would lend itself well to consent.

“Not...a wish,” he said carefully, deciding — independent of any _feelings_ he might have been experiencing — to look elsewhere. “More like a fantasy. But I don’t want to make a deal with it. I want us both to want it.” He coughed delicately and, feeling foolish, added an intelligent, “Um. Yeah.”

“You know I’m not shy or anything.” 

She banished Sparky to wherever it resided when she didn’t want it around, slid over to him, and took his paw gently between both of hers. He looked down at their joined paws and thought about how just last week he’d seen her carelessly lift the entire refrigerator to search for a missing game piece. She could rip him into pieces, and here she was, being _gentle —_ yeah, okay, it was sexy. He gulped and then gave her an easy smile, pretending he hadn’t gulped. 

“Tell me your fantasy,” she added, when it became clear that he wasn’t going to start. He wasn’t great at being vulnerable, but she was worth it. Probably. If this didn’t end up with Nick entirely humiliated and Judy moving out in a huff. Maybe he should just say something boring? Or change the subject? He could distract her with kisses, that usually worked in movies…

“I’ve been thinking about your other form,” he blurted, because his fretting had been overpowered by his youthful libido. 

_Curses,_ he thought uselessly. And because he was no longer in a family-friendly setting, his brain added, _Fucking fuck._

(It wasn’t useful either.)

“I see,” she said, looking at him blankly. It was clear that she did not, in fact, see.

He could continue to be a scaredy-fox, or he could just lean in, so he decided to be cool about it. After all, it wasn’t _that_ weird. There was like...porn of it, right? He was sure somebody had done porn of it. Or at least there were references on the internet to porn of it, which was basically the same thing. And Judy was the only demon god in existence, which meant mammals dressed up as tentacle monsters and did stuff to each other on camera. Or...maybe did drawings. Who even knew? His corner of the internet tended to be Wikipedia, the dictionary, and when he couldn’t sleep, DIY beekeeping forums. Pixies _hated_ bees.

The point was, it _totally_ wasn’t weird. It was fine. “Judy. Judy. Carrots. Light of my life, demon of my dreams, _literally,_ I want you to do stuff to me in your other form, with your magic and all your extra limbs and please don’t look at me like that.”

She was looking at him _not_ like he was a freak, but like he was an entire five-course dinner. That was slightly worse, considering she’d developed a taste for those annoying garden pixies that kept infesting magical hotspots. And were her nails just the slightest bit longer and sharper? That glint in her eye was the same one she got when she got a fun assignment.

 _Oh._ That did something equally fun to his stomach. Well, then.

“I’m not opposed. Let’s talk rules,” she said decisively. Good old Judy Hopps, whose motto was _try everything._ Nick hadn’t had anything to worry about in the first place.

* * *

A lesser fox might have felt uncomfortable and embarrassed standing stark naked in front of a monstrous entity that was somehow both a fully-clothed three-foot bunny and a fifteen-foot monster composed of countless tentacles and a single bloodshot eyeball, but Nick — when he was with Judy, anyway — didn’t have very much shame to spare on anything. Partly, that was a remnant of his career as a con artist; there was no room for shame when you were playing parts that might otherwise be humiliating. Mostly, it was just stubborn confidence in his partner. He believed with everything in him that Judy loved every bit of him, and generally that belief chased away any negative self-talk he might otherwise have engaged in.

He had a keyring clutched firmly in his paw. If he needed to stop, he’d drop the keys, and they’d stop. It wasn’t like they’d never tried interesting stuff before; the keys weren’t new, only the method of shutting him up. And _what a method._

“We’ll start small,” said Judy, only a tiny bit of reverb in her voice. Slowly, four of her extra appendages encircled his arms and legs. Unlike a normal bondage scene, which he had totally never looked up when he was particularly lonely, thanks, she didn’t form cuff shapes; instead, she crossed her tentacles behind him and wrapped them up and down his limbs, supporting him comfortably while she lifted him into the air. As his feet left the ground, her strangely soft coils tightened, securing his limbs in place, turning him into an X-shape. “Does that feel okay, Nick?”

“Yeah,” he replied, because it did. There was the sort of swoopy excitement you got when you rode a roller coaster for the first time, and the stirring of arousal that came with intentional foreplay with Judy, and a breathless joy at getting a gift this unique. “Yeah, we can keep going.”

One smooth tentacle came up and traced Nick’s thin lips, setting his nerves alight. He’d known his lips were sensitive, but wow — fully restrained like this, the sensation was amplified into something fiery, beautiful, something he wanted desperately for Judy to do again. He reached out with his tongue and licked, interested in the flavor. It tasted like raspberries, because of course it did. Magic. Why had he not considered that Judy would try to make every part of this experience enjoyable?

A second tentacle slid neatly into his open mouth, stroking along his tongue and arching against the roof of his mouth. This was so... _new._ They had both done their fair share of sucking, and occasionally gagging, on things in the year and some-odd months they’d been together, but he’d never had something independently moving inside his mouth, something prehensile and wandering. It was different because she still had that thin tendril tracing his lips. It was different because he wanted her pushing at the back of his throat, wanted it enough to beg for it, but she was perfectly avoiding it. It was different because he didn’t have to wear a mouth-guard to protect her tentacles from his fangs; if he bit down, nothing would happen. 

(She wasn’t missing the back of his throat because of a length miscalculation, she was _teasing_ him. It was infuriating and so sexy he could hardly stand it.)

Judy stepped close and wound another tentacle through his legs, around his testicles — squeezing just enough to make him throb a little — and prodded the slick, rounded end of it at the ring of his anus. _Oh,_ that was so _good._ The tentacle was a tiny thing, just a little slimmer than half of Judy’s little finger, and when it slipped inside, it wasn’t like anything he’d ever felt before. It was slicker than any toy they’d used, flexible and strong enough to coil inside of him, on a determined mission to find the best way to make him see stars. And then it did — it found his prostate, folded over and wriggled itself there _over and over —_ and the thick tentacle on his tongue finally, _finally_ filled his mouth, forcing a well of saliva to spill out the sides as he failed to breathe in and moan at the same time. It began to thrust in and out, the tapered tip of it rounding out to become something thicker and more blunt, and Nick gagged again, and his brain spun in a thousand different directions as more tentacles came up to drape loosely around his neck. They weren’t choking him, but he felt so beautifully trapped there, and his own obscene gagging sounds echoed in his ears, and how had they not _done_ this before?

He gripped the keyring so tightly he thought it might be grafted to his paw forever. If he accidentally dropped it now, he might combust.

Because he couldn’t move — because he could only sink into her strong, unrelenting grip and _take it —_ the pleasure was just that much more intense. He was helpless, and he was safe, and he didn’t have to do anything except feel, experience, accept everything and anything she wanted to give him. Judy was a horrifying, brain-bending _monster_ who would never, ever hurt him, who filled him and surrounded him and stroked and kneaded and adored him _so much_ he could feel it sparking through him like electricity. Magic. Magic so potent he could taste it as much as feel it coiling inside him.

Every part of him was touching a part of her. She writhed against him, ruffling his fur as she curled around his limbs and waist and neck. She wriggled another thin tendril along his tongue, forced his mouth open wide with it while the other relentlessly worked the back of his throat, coaxing him to gasp and gag around her. She wriggled inside of him, slick against his prostate, the push-pull rhythm making his chest heave. A small, wet tentacle made its way down, around his penis — explored the shaft, slicked over the slit — Nick _whined,_ but the sound was lost in the rest.

The whole world narrowed. It was Nick, it was Judy, and it was the keys, but nothing else existed — just the pleasure of them, the overwhelming _sensation,_ the wriggling and pushing and choking and forced openness and Judy pushed deeper into him, harder and faster, the pressure against his prostate nearing impact rather than massage. He couldn’t control the thrusting of his hips, so Judy reached out with her paws and held him as an extra measure, pressing into the dips of his pelvis with strong, caring thumbs.

He was suspended in her. He desperately wanted to move, and he never wanted to move again.

“Oh, you’re so gorgeous like this,” she murmured, her eyes glowing bright in the dim light, and that was it: Nick shuddered and came, his own body working against him as his muscles clenched and he clenched down on the tentacle inside of him. As though he’d set off a chain reaction, Judy’s tentacle did _something;_ it vibrated in him and released some kind of fluid. The one working over his penis opened like a flower and absorbed his semen, the suction lessening a little over time, and the tentacles she’d bound him with relaxed a little.

Her face was an expression of bliss. Had she come? Was that what he had felt inside of him? Did she get pleasure from her extra appendages? He sucked on the tentacles in his mouth, and sure enough, she bit her lip and whimpered a bit. That was _so hot._

“Might pass out in a minute,” she said, retracting everything. He mourned the loss, and if he made a little upset noise when he couldn’t suck on her anymore, that was nobody’s business. She looked at him carefully. “Are you okay?”

“I’m _awesome,”_ he replied, and he was pretty sure it was true in all senses of the word.

She set him down gently on the bed and flopped down next to him face-first, clearly tired. To be fair, she _had_ just gotten him off using several extra appendages that normal mammals didn’t have. That probably took a lot of brainpower, not to mention the strength it took to string up a fox three times her weight and hold him there just for sex. Okay, he was the luckiest fox in the entire universe. Maybe in all the universes.

He lay back and rested one paw atop her head, scritching her ears a little because she liked that. Yes, there was a part of her that was a horrifying (read: amazingly sexy) demon god, but she was still a mammal who liked cuddles and head-scratches and eating ice cream out of the tub while watching bad TV. 

“I really needed that,” he said happily. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop smiling. Not even after he woke up from the incoming nap, deliciously sore and in need of a bath. 

Best. Holiday. Ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I drove 20 minutes to a local coffee shop to post this (I'm gonna be kicked out in less than an hour but fuck me the drinks are good), because I won't have internet until January and will be busy with other things for the next couple of days but I need to say, loudly and with panache, FUCK CHRISTMAS.


End file.
